


And We Have to Stop Meeting Like This

by AstroGirl



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: Sometimes he tells her everything.





	And We Have to Stop Meeting Like This

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Gen Prompt Bingo, for the prompt "honesty."

Sometimes he tells her everything.

Not every time. He's pretty sure of that. Or maybe he just wants to believe it. Not every time is this bad, right? It _can't_ be. He knows it's happened at least once before, though. He can feel it, the eerie familiarity of it all. He's told her before.

Not that it did any good, obviously. Not long-term, anyway, mostly because there _isn't_ any long term. But that doesn't change what he feels right now. His marrow aches and his magic roils with the effort of holding the truth inside him, and, pathetic as it is, she's the only one he can talk to. He certainly can't tell Papyrus. Papyrus wouldn't understand, which would be awful, or he would, which would be worse.

So he rests his skull against the door and lets the deja vu wash over him, and through the heavy slab of wood that separates them, he says, "Something is wrong with time."

She laughs a little, and says, "Oh, yes?" She thinks it's the setup for a joke. It should be. Maybe it is. He could make any number of puns: Yeah, it really _ticks_ me off. To be honest, it's completely _clocked_ me one. I just can't _face_ it. I need a _hand_.

All too true to be funny. So instead, he just lets it out, lets the words tumble out of his mouth without stopping at his funnybone. He tells her everything, all at once. The anomaly, the readings, the resets. Everything. Behind the door, she makes small sounds of dismay or confusion, but she doesn't interrupt him.

When he's done, there's a moment of silence. It feels heavy. It feels familiar.

"Sorry," he says when he can't stand to let it go on any longer. "I shouldn't dump all this on you. Knowing it doesn't make anything easier. It _really_ doesn't. But..." He closes his eye sockets. He can almost remember... something. A glimpse of white. The feel of fur under his phalanges. The sound of her laugh, unmuffled by a door. "I gotta talk to somebody, you know? And I think..." He opens his eyes again. The door seems very solid in front of his face. "I think... we knew each other. Really well. In one of those other timelines." He manages a a small, helpless laugh. "Sorry if that sounds like a bad pickup line." But the truth is, he _does_ know her from somewhere, she _does_ come here often, and he's pretty sure they _are_ destined to be together. Or were, once. In some other time.

"Oh," she says. Her voice is soft, but he can hear her perfectly. Her face must be pressed right up against the door. Close enough to touch, if it weren't for the barrier in the way. "Oh, my friend." She sounds confused, and sorry for him, and something else, maybe. Something that longs for things to be different just as much as he does. Or maybe he's reading too much into it.

"I am not sure I understand," she says, and he can hear the memory of the words echoing somewhere deep inside him even as she says them. "But... I do wish to help."

"You can't," he says. "I'm pretty sure you can't. But maybe..." He strokes the door with his hand. There's something in the ancient solidity of it that's almost comforting. "Heh, well. Maybe you have anyway. Thanks."

Time passes, long and silent. He waits for her to reply, to say something, anything at all. He wonders if he should leave, if maybe they've already said everything they can bear say to each other this time.

Then, beyond the door, he hears a sound. For a moment, he can't quite figure out what it is, and then he realizes. It's a sob. And after it comes a worse sound, a choking, anguished cry. 

He straightens up, his fingers scrabbling hard against the door. _Door lady?_ , he tries to say. _I'm sorry_ , he tries to say, _I shouldn't have put this on you. It'll be okay,_ he tries to say. _You won't remember this later. It'll be okay._ But none of it comes out. Only a small, strangled noise that matches her own more closely than he'd like.

"I cannot," he hears her say, her voice thick and strange. "I cannot do this anymore. I _cannot_."

"I'm sorry," he manages, finally. "I'm sorry, I--"

And then, something happens. Something he doesn't believe has ever happened before, not like this.

The handle begins to turn. The door begins to open. He catches a glimpse of white fur, of someone strange and familiar reaching out for him. A fresh-baked smell wafts out from behind her, and it smells _right._ It smells like home. He reaches for her in return, and he thinks, ridiculously, that maybe this will make things okay, maybe this is the one thing he needed, somehow, to break the cycle and make everything all right, and he begins to speak, begins to tell her who he is, to tell her how much he--

And time resets.

**

Sometimes, he tells her everything.


End file.
